


Della Verita

by Anonymous



Series: Have You Heard of The Shahzade [4]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29892138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Indeed. Just a slave he was, among hundred-thousands of others. Lived as low and would die as low. The little prince wondered, watching him stagger, on the verge of passing out, to his feet and felt nothing but sorrow deep in the heart.Not even strong enough to be trained for brawling within the wall of the Coliseum. What harm could he be the cause for?How they had met under the worst condition.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Have You Heard of The Shahzade [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2171301
Kudos: 21
Collections: Anonymous





	Della Verita

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Violence against child slave  
> Serious self-debasement  
> Unbetaed I die like me

"In that case," The shorter figure tied the money pouch back, calmly at their own pace, on the belt made of crystal beads. Another affirmation of what the slaver had just surmised. "Cody would be glad to know I tried."

The Zygerrian could almost sense himself drooling over the fine Damas stones—so rarely seen even in the inner rim—and the little fool themselves, who dared to wear such treasure around the waist and not worried about being robbed. 

"Your luck, filth." He spat on the mess that'd been half-dead on the ground, and his boot-clad foot heeled the poor bastard in the chest for one last time, before looming over to the walking credits–half a million right there, forget about his slaves.

He took one step forward, and they took one step back. 

Not just the stones, but the person as well. The slaver calculated while feline eyes narrowing. In fact, _all_ will be his, perhaps except for that bizarre headgear that simply resembled a plate on the head, with a layer of thick veil hanging from the brim down to the shoulders[ to obscure everything inside](http://qqpublic.qpic.cn/qq_public/0/0-3094079452-78C0A521FC66CF6F12204F0727FBBF11/0?fmt=jpg&size=8&h=280&w=554&ppv=1). 

It must be but a kid if solely judging from their voice; the exotic attire of theirs could even be a bonus, which was just as perfect. Rich cubs gone lost were the favorite of the black market after all. But whatever under that cloth better not be so hideous to look at, or he would really make them hurt like the Hutts did.

One step after another. Until they were out of the shallow alley.

The kid let out a short breath like they could be relieved on his street. "You know I cannot really fight like this," They even blatantly showed off their bare hands. Such naive, quick money to make. The Zygerrian could barely hold back a raw, victorious grin. "So I say I could use a helping hand,"

"or _two_." 

Words were picked up by two men in unison, both fully armored from head to toe. The slaver faced up in cold sweat into the dark muzzles of blasters, two from each side. Rigidly, he swallowed down the fright and tried to seek some room for negotiation with his potential, or say former, commodity.

"Now now, we d-don’t have to be rude, friends–" 

Crouching down, Boil searched the body that'd gone breathless thoroughly. The irony that neither killing slave traders nor the act of slave trading was considered illegal aside, they did need this man's identification to prove their innocence within the borders of the republic.

And the other problem he had was that, just as his twin brother was asking, "How did you end up in there? What if we were not looking for you, how would you even defend yourself without a saber?"

Their Shahzade startled a bit at the question, which was unusual considering how composed he had been a few minutes ago. And Waxer coughed, a signal Boil didn't get at all, so the older of the two had to take the action himself–to turn the body face down, effacing the red-stained traces on the man’s torso, since they’d particularly aimed for less triggering parts.

Oh, that. Right. 

"I take it you must’ve offered more civilized solutions, least the Commander will be relieved." Parted by the veil, Waxer was not sure whether the young prince was still paying attention to the corpse, and he would prefer they were not.

"No bloodshed necessary if he were to be more sociable, " Distracted, the prince mumbled in frustration. "I could've simply buy off the slave instead." The brothers could literally hear him pout, by which they were amused as always.

"Speaking of which...!" As if just waking up from a daydream, their Shahzade swiveled so quickly, plunging into the alleyway before any of the royal guards would grab a bit of them.

At some point, he thought he was dead already, after the electrocution and beatings for stealing from the pile of buns that he had been ordered to dispose of. Had to be the worst excuse for death.

Yet no worse than the fact that he had given up the thought of escaping, had nearly forgotten about his own name, his buir, his clan, those that had been burned to the ashes by faces that had long faded away with his will.

A five-year-old Jango Fett had been a merry ad’ika.

The fifteen-year-old Jango was a slave with no past.

Gods, spirits. Was it because that he had never lived with much devotion? Regardless of how hard it would be to keep faith together with a heavy collar? Or was it just because he better be bereft of life... Even that might be a reward now.

"Is he dead? Agne above, he can’t be already!" A voice ringing vague. Some gooey matter brushing over his head, shoulders, then bare chest. Hands pulling him up and against a mud wall, always so warm during the day on Raksa.

Then his eyelid was propped open, exposed to the dim, hazy lights. A man replied: "No, this guy lives." 

Did he really.

Suddenly a sharp sting came from the side of his neck. Having so little control of himself, the slave couldn't help but grimace. Kark... if it were drugs. And the sweet voice sounded again, seen through his worries, comforting. "Just a compound of Bacta and Tinor, rest."

So he rested, in a nap-like coma. For how long he wasn’t sure, but when he finally had the strength to blink properly, the suns of Raksa remained in view, though descending. Could be around a standard hour or two. Dizzily, he examined his hands, all wiped clean, lazing on his thighs. If he'd move those stiff limbs apace, he might catch up to the nightly chores and spare himself another round of torture.

About his rescuers, he might as well just forget them and live this life through at first. Abating the reluctance to let go that came from nowhere, he finally looked up in determination. Yes, he would do so. 

But before the desolate street scene he had been seeing for years, there stood the figure that offered to buy him out of the trouble, that lured his tormenter away at the risk of their own safety.

"You're awake."

—that saved his life. Jango's eyes widened.

"You can relax and you should. The Zygerrian is no more, therefore you are now technically the property of a late man." They bent down close, cool fingers lightly squeezing his forearm to soothe. "I must apologize that I could not free you; we haven't been able to locate the unlocker to that." They pointed at his collar diffidently.

"That's why you'll be needing this." They continued to stuff a full money pouch into his hands, enclosing his fingers around the too soft silk fabric. "Go find a technician, illegally or not, just get rid of it."

Even at this distance, through that strange veiled hat, he could only see a blurred outline of what they might look like. What the other might be thinking when gifting him near-freedom like this, he had never been more eager to find out.

"Hurry! Our transport’s ready!" Someone shouted from afar. In the call, his savior soon stood back up and was about to leave with nothing holding them back, let alone him. 

"Your name..." Despite the struggling, all visible, the slave still tasted rust and sour surging along with the obedience that had been hammered cold into his bones. "Your name. _Alor'ika_ , please."

Indeed. Just a slave he was, among hundred-thousands of others. Lived as low and would die as low. The little prince wondered, watching him stagger, on the verge of passing out, to his feet and felt nothing but sorrow deep in the heart. 

Not even strong enough to be trained for brawling within the wall of the Coliseum. What harm could he be the cause for?

"..." Ben? Perhaps no. Chewing on the bottom lip, he gave in to let pity take over. Even if only this time. The prince ignored the warnings that had been urged to him too many times by Cody and his master. "Obi-Wan, of Stewjon."

"Come find me if you could make it out alive." 

Obi-Wan. Jango repeated in mind, carved it deep. Obi-wan. 

I will. 

They had met under the worst condition. You know, the world was never a place to take pleasure in. One could always hear the wanderers wail while passing through the corners owned by slavers and continue with not a glance. Only this little prince had stopped by.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by  
> \- 孽海记


End file.
